Notion of a Potion
by ChampionTheWonderSnail
Summary: Response to a CMDA Valentine's Day Love Potion No.9 challenge. Mage Surana finds unrequited love hard to bear, but the alternative may leave him scarred for life...


Written for the CMDA (Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age) _Love Potion No. 9 Challenge_, this is a sweeping tale of a young Warden in Love in a World Gonne Madde…Oops. *removes ill-fitting Pratchettesque cap* Ahem.

Well, it's just a story. And it does have a Warden in it. Because the path to true love is often littered with empty flagons and the carcasses of dead dragons…Or not.

-oo-

**Notion of a Potion**

The chair back scraped on the stone as Digby slumped, waiting for the others to finish what they needed to in the marketplace. The sound of familiar laughter floated from the other side of the busy square where his fellow warden stood with the bard; two bright heads angled towards each other close to touching. His gut twisted as Leliana placed one slender hand on Alistair's arm. Her look at the other Warden added another sharp stab to his insides, as eyes of summer blue locked with mud brown. The meaning behind that look was so infinitely clear to anyone looking on.

Digby pushed himself to his feet, the sound of scrambling claws behind him indicating that even Mallow had seen and understood that look…and sympathised. After a while meandering past gaily covered stalls and merchants hawking their wares, Digby felt soggy coldness touch his hand. He paused, looking into a set of pitying hazel eyes.

Mallow whined, buttering his master's hand with comforting drool. Giving the Mabari a grateful pat on his tufty head, Digby then shoved his hands hard into his pockets. Shoulders rounded and head sinking almost to his chest, he was the picture of dejection.

_Yeah…women always go for the tall handsome types…Princely; that was the word for it. _Bitter laughter escaped him. The 'Prince' bit could not have been truer in Alistair's case. Even with leaving out the 'prince' description, he reminded himself that he'd never stood a chance anyway. It had been like this in the Tower too. All the girls went for the naturally broad-shouldered, square-jawed Apprentices or the cute Templars who looked slightly better than a wet teabag in all that purple cloth and plate metal.

Not…stocky, flat-eared, snub-nosed, perpetually child-like guys like him.

"You look like a man of discernment!"

Digby would not have stopped, had the woman who'd spoken to him not gone off into a fit of worrisome coughing that made _his _chest hurt.

He stepped around the narrow table – barely a table really, being a single plank of discarded wood, balanced onto an old tree stump and covered with tacky red cloth – to the elderly woman's side, patting her back as she wheezed and attempted to catch her breath.

"I'm a healer," Digby told her, helping her to sit on the ground. There seemed little else he could do, there being no other seat conveniently close enough…"Can I offer you my services? I could make you a draught to…"

"Seems to me _you're_ in more need of help than anything else." The woman poked a skeletal finger painfully into his chest.

Digby smiled wanly. Removing the cloth from the 'table', he tucked it around the old woman's knees. "An understatement," he told her. "For the help I need would take several armies worth of effort…" Of course _he _meant the Blight. The woman it seemed, was thinking of something else. Both of them looked up at the same time to see Alistair and Leliana strolling past, arm in arm and oblivious to the two of _them_. When Digby turned back to the woman it was to find her watching him far, far too keenly.

"You should…Will you allow me to perform at the least a spell of healing?" he asked her, turning the conversation back to the safer subject of whatever affliction she had. With little answer except a knowing, penetrating stare, Digby began the words of the healing spell anyway, hoping she would not turn out to be one of those people who ended up reporting him for unasked for use of magic.

When he finished, he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. "You should try and get some rest too," he suggested, beginning to rise, when she caught his hand in a hefty grip that belied her age.

"Payment for your services, Warden."

Digby frowned on the object that had appeared almost by magic itself in his hand; a single glass phial shaped like a single teardrop.

"Really, there's no need…" Digby began, finding the woman curl his fingers around the object insistently.

"A key to your heart's deepest desire…?" the elder woman wheezed at him.

"Look, it's…" Digby took in the state of her; the tatty stained clothing barely adequate to keep her covered; mere strips of thin cloth sewn together with hemp string…and fumbled at his belt for his money pouch. Passing over possibly far more than whatever was in the phial was worth, Digby closed the pouch and stood. "You should use that to try and get yourself a warm meal," he added, while the woman put each coin in her mouth to nibble with surprisingly strong white teeth.

She looked up at him, waved a hand imperiously to move him on. "Give it to the one your heart desires!" she commanded.

"Arf!"

"What?" Digby stumbled when Mallow head-butted him. The Mabari presented his wiggling bottom, nose pointing towards _The Gnawed Noble _tavern. It seemed that while he had been conversing with the old woman, his companions had finished their purchases and were now impatiently awaiting his attention.

Scowling, Digby turned once more to the old woman to find her gone; plank, tree stump, tacky cloth and all.

-oo-

"So…Warden…" The thump on his back would have surprised him and sent him sprawling across the sticky floor, had the travelling miasma not already alerted him to the dwarf's approach. As it was, he'd spilled most of his tankard of rather fine sweet cider onto his robes.

"Oghren…!"

The dwarf warrior clambered up on the stool beside him, half slipping off and clearly already most of the way through his evening's quota of alcohol. Once most of his bottom was in contact with the stool, Oghren elbowed his Warden companion violently in the side.

"Hey…" Oghren slurred. "Let's say you, me, the Elf and the little pike twirler head off to the Pearl for a bit of kitty and pie…" _Jab. _"You know what I'm sayin'?"

Digby _did, _but the last thing he wanted to do this evening was _anything _involving this dwarf in his company or otherwise. And especially not in this embarrassingly drunken state.

"One," Digby explained tightly. "I am allergic to cats and two…you know wheat doesn't agree with me. Unless you can guarantee that the pastry used in this pie is based on a non-wheat grain, I'm afraid I shall have to pass on your…very…intriguing offer."

"Ah…you sound just as bad as the…_URRRRPPPP_…pike twirler!" Oghren groused into the pint mug clasped before him. _Stab. _"Thinks he might get lucky tonight with _Red_! Eh heh heh!"

_Great, wonderful…_Digby threw a sour look at Oghren that completely bounced off and went elsewhere. "You know what?" he added peevishly, ensuring quite clearly that in no way was he interested in being social…with anyone. "I'm _tired _so I'm going to bed."

"Ya don't think ya need some company to warm ya cockles, eh Warden?" Oghren wiggled his eyebrows at him so vigorously, Digby was sure entire flocks of butterflies had been disturbed on the other side of the planet and unusual tsunamis would occur in strange places.

"A bed pan will suffice!" Digby told him firmly and left without further argument, elbowing politely past the other tavern-goers with his face – as usual averted – and his pace quick. In his wake, Oghren curled his lip in disgust and checked the Warden's tankard. It was half-full of liquid that smelled like something that came out of a fruit. He drank it anyway, screwing up his face and pursing his lips under his thick moustache. It actually wasn't half bad…

He'd been just about to return to his own pint of ale when something shiny on the bench caught his eye. Oghren picked it up and turned. "Hey Warden…ya left ya…" But Digby had by now disappeared completely.

Oghren studied the object in his hand…it was glass with some kind of liquid in it, strangely warm to the touch and faintly glowing. Oghren held it up to the dim lamplight. His drink-befuddled eyesight was clearly making him see things because he was damned sure there were stars in there, twinkling at him. Removing the tiny stopper he brought it under his nose and sniffed.

"By the ancestors!"

Tipping back his hoary head, he dropped the entire contents of the phial into his mouth. The liquid had a rather nice honeyed taste to it, like the finest mead, and more than a bit of a bronto kick, sending warm waves of heat into his stomach and his nether regions. The room turned a lovely shade of pink and even the bard strangling several cats in the corner began to sound melodic and pleasant. Oghren smiled, happy with the world.

Then he fell off the stool.

-oo-

Digby yawned and stretched, sitting up and running his hands through his hair. As per usual, Mallow rolled over into the warm indentation in the blanket, curling up like a fuzzy ammonite; his nose tucked in tight under a rear leg, snores sounding like a hive of bees. Digby gave the Mabari a pat and grabbed his tunic, tugging it over his head as he emerged from his tent. Vision obscured, he did not see the pile of hair and lace, catching his foot and pitching face first into the dirt.

At least the tunic slid over his head so he could see.

"Oh! I'm so terribly sorry, love! Did I hurt ya?"

Digby spun. The voice had sounded like _Oghren's, _but the dwarf didn't talk like _that._ But it was…Digby's mouth fell open with a clammy pop. What appeared to be the dwarven beserker but was clearly…not, had been the reason for his early morning sprawl.

"Um…" Digby began, in the cautious, unsure tone of voice one normally reserved when realising that the very handy cave to shelter from the storm was actually occupied by a sleepy bear. "Oh…Oh…Oghren…?"

Oghren tossed a beard braid coquettishly over a shoulder. "Good morning sweetie." He held out a plate of blackened bits of coal. "I made you breakfast. Your favourite. Corn croquettes."

Digby peered at the plate. Oh. _Those _were croquettes? He thought corn was yellow in general, not…black and brown.

"Uh…Oghren," Digby swallowed, trying to make sense of it all and failing. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh this?" Oghren twirled. Digby cringed. "Just something I had lying around."

"Ah…" Digby nodded, bottom shuffling backwards. "The uh…gingham is…very fluffy on you."

"I wish I'd realised before how slimming the colour pink was," Oghren said, with a flutter of his eyelashes and this time the young elven mage could not help himself. He stared closely. The dwarf's mouth appeared to be darker, redder than usual and…shiny. There were also two, clearly defined red spots on each of Oghren's stubbled cheeks, leading Digby to wonder why he had missed that very obvious detail before. To the mage's horror, some rouge had also been applied to the dwarf's chest to enhance…cleavage.

"Wyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynnne…!"

His cry of dismay echoed from tree to tree and rock to reverberating rock, all the way down to the stream at the bottom of the party's camp hill where a single raven had just finished wading and washing. The bird took flight at the noise; several other winged beasts also took to the air, along with a rabbit, a fox and a couple of sleepy hedgehogs.

The tent behind Digby rustled. A dishevelled white head poked out, rubbing at sleep-bleared eyes. "What is going on? Can a person not have their…Oh Holy_ Maker!_"

Across from Digby, Oghren pouted. "I really don't see why you should call the old bat, when _I'm _here all ready with your breakfast and a back rub and maybe a bit of canoodlin' later. I even got some nice smellin' creams 'n unguents to rub into ya business bits. You'll like _that, _I reckon."

Digby bottom-shuffled all the way over the still-smoking firepit to hide behind Wynne's legs; clutching at her shift and whimpering. Others emerged from their tents. Alistair from his (alone, Digby's brain noted), Sten from the trees, sword drawn. Mallow appeared too, with a flying leap and a growl; launching himself at Oghren's back and pinning him to the ground, snarling.

"What manner of beast is this?" Sten demanded.

"Hold your sword Sten!" Wynne commanded hastily. "It's just…It's just…" She turned to the quivering mage. "Someone's playing silly buggers," she said in her stern, Wynne voice. "Come on then!" she clapped her hands briskly. "Own up! The game is over. Whoever did this had better own up now or I shall be forced to be very, very cross!"

"Your puppy just ruined my nice new mother's apron…" Oghren cried into the ground. "I was gonna recite poh-tree at ya and everythin'" he continued. "How does I love ya? Let me count the ways…one, cos' you're grouse. Two cos' I…jous…love to hear ya squeal like a girl in battle. Three cos'…"

Mallow lifted a single paw and planted it square on the dwarf's head, adding a warning growl not to speak any more. Or move, or breathe or otherwise do anything that might infer existence.

While the dwarf was immobilised in this way, Wynne took the opportunity to study him more closely. "This is the work of some very powerful magic…" she mused softly. Digby peeked out from behind the elder mage to peer himself at the dwarf.

"Magic?" he repeated.

"Yes. Magic," Wynne confirmed with a firm nod. "A very powerful love potion by the look of it."

"A _love_ potion?" Alistair cocked his head at the scene of pink gingham dwarf and growling Mabari. "Why in the Maker's name would anyone want to give _Oghren _a love potion?"

"But I've been secretly hankerin' after yas for like, far_-ever…_" Oghren sniffled. "You're my bestest, gorgeoustest, magicalest buddy Warden in the whole of sodding Ferelden! Say you'll be mine!"

"Can we not do something to shut this creature up?" Sten inquired in his deep, politely modulated voice. "Perhaps cut out his tongue?"

"My tongue, my heart...my sodding vitals are all yours…!" Oghren began to sing. Wynne intoned the words of a sleep spell, knocking the singing dwarf out. However, due to the natural resistance that dwarves had to magic, he continued to hum softly while he slumbered.

They tied him up, pink gingham apron, lipstick, rouge and all. To a tree.

Digby did not like the stern, speculative looks the Senior Enchanter cast him while continuing to study the spell affecting Oghren. He recalled the old woman from the day before and the glass phial. A quick, surreptitious search of the garments that he had worn to the _Gnawed Noble _the evening before revealed that the phial was indeed missing. How Oghren had managed to obtain the potion, Digby had no idea. He never intended it to go anywhere near Leliana…what if it had been poison after all? And…if it had had the same kind of effect on the Bard as it did on Oghren, he had cause to be very, very afraid.

So Digby kept his silence, hoping that the dwarven resistance to magic meant that the love potion – powerful or not – fell into the same category.

It did. The camp knew the moment the potion stopped working by the bellow of dwarven rage, followed by a stream; an entire lake – nay an ocean – of cursing in such blinding colour, Alistair was forced to block his ears with cotton wool.

Oghren was allowed to strip and burn his offending clothing, returning to his collection of mail and plate he'd pilfered from half a Legion of the Dead squad.

Only Shale was game enough to mention the 'p' word again.

-oo-

Later that afternoon, in another part of the forest, wings fluttered in amongst the branches. To anyone looking, it appeared agitated, but the forest was deserted of all save the creatures that lived there. The slender black raven alit first on one branch then another, finally swooping down to the ground. The air shimmered, bent…and in its place stood a woman, still birdlike with her hawk-sharp eyes and the way she cocked her head from side to side, listening to the sounds within the wind.

"I know you're out there mother," she snapped. "Show yourself!"

A single large white owl emerged from the deep dark depths of an elderly, gnarled pine. It glared at the woman on the ground.

"I suppose you thought that was enormously funny?" the young woman demanded. The owl merely continued to stare, though the woman could detect a hint of smugness about the beak.

"Well…I suppose…" the witch narrowed her eyes at the bird. "'Twas _mildly _amusing, from a certain point of view. _My _preference would have been to subject the fool Templar to such a jest…childish as the prank seemed." She folded her arms across her ample chest. "I'm sure I need not remind you this has caused further delay…along with the number of foolish quests the Warden has had to pursue for the idiots of this pathetic country, 'tis a wonder either will have any time whatsoever to deal with the _Blight_."

The owl continued to stare soundlessly.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Very well. I know your purpose. I shall double my _efforts_…Now be off with you old woman! I know my part and you should do well to remember _yours._"

As the owl continued to remain silent, Morrigan exhaled a breath of exasperation then transformed once more into the raven. Wings outstretched, it took to the air, circling the area once through the trees, then climbed higher. As the forest fell away, raven-Morrigan fancied she could hear owlish cackling…

-oo-


End file.
